Excercise

I scored a goal.
No, a real one.
It was pretty too.
Even the Welsh gym teacher
responsible for the assist said so;
Sharp I believe was the word.

Students vs. Staff.
And my sixteen years of soccer
were good for a little muscle memory,
keen anticipation,
and an undeniable score.
Not to mention victory.

In the post game line up
slapping hands
in good game syncopation
and I am back in high school,
brash and invincible
in this breathless moment.

I thought parenthood would feel that way
no really, I did.

***
The three little ghosts we made out of cloth diapers,
newspapers, and wire
are bobbing
defiant over our front door
landing.

From the street
they are creepy and odd.
We made them after Sam asked why our street wasn't as fun
as his friend Emily's.

So we remedied that.

I go to bed each night hoping no one rips the ghosts down
in a drugged frenzy.
I imagine that Emily's neighbors don't have the same
ghost buster potential.

(I hope that the decorative ducklings
stolen from my bird bath
last week
that survived the summer safely
land in a lawn like Emily's
in their afterlife.
Having an urban garden is a constant
exercise in non attachment.)

***

What will I do with that hour we get tomorrow?
When will I really savor it?

Knead it between my fingers-
like warm dough
and squeeze it into a poem,
a paragraph, or a slice of promised apple pie.